Beauty and the Beast (Not Quite the Fairy Tale #3) (9 page)

Chapter Ten

Rein

A
iden took the long walk; while he’d made his decision, he couldn’t help delaying the inevitable.

The park hadn’t changed. The fountains and the neatly trimmed bushes had obviously deserved more attention than the people of Jereena in the eyes of the King.

And it was his fault.

Aiden felt sick to his stomach, recalling their last meeting.

Ten years ago.

He stood behind a screen, a cowardly monster hiding in the shadows.

“I need you to listen to my voice,” he’d said, praying that it was recognized.

That wasn’t a certainty.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Of course I bloody know who you are, boy” Armand replied irritably, and Aiden breathed out in relief.

It wasn’t as though the King had paid that much attention to his son; sure, he was great at pointing out what he did wrong, but they rarely met more than once a quarter.

“I’m going to have to leave the castle. Something happen, I…”

I’m not
me
.

“I can’t stay.’

“Aiden, what the heck is the matter with you?”

He knew there was no other choice, so he’d pushed the curtain aside, and let the King take in his son.

He read it all in his eyes; the horror, the disgust, the judgment.

“I’ll give up my right to the throne,” he announced, reassuring him. “I just didn’t want you to launch a national search when I leave.”

After the initial shock, the King’s expression was resolute, final.

“You are my son, and the Prince of this kingdom,” he told him. “There will be no relinquishing either. I don’t know what creature made you this Beast, but we’ll find a way around it. There are stronger powers in this world, things you haven’t even heard off… There will be no rest for the nation until we’ve hunted down a god able to return you to your former self!”

Aiden shuddered at the idea of showing his face, his body, his skin to those who had known him as he was before.

“I… I’m leaving,” he repeated. “It’s better that way.”

There had been a lot of backwards and forwards, but in the end, they’d struck a deal.

The King threatened of abolishing if his only son refused to stay Prince and Heir of Jereena. Aiden swore to stay in the city, available, because King Armand was going to consult every fay in the kingdom, and he’d need him to come back when he found a way around the curse.

Aiden had stopped hoping after the second year.

He had refused to visit his father over the years, recalling his visible pain when he’d seen him like
this.
He didn’t need to be reminded. So, it was the first time he walked into the palace in a decade.

It looked bigger, and quieter; there hadn’t been a day without some sort of delegation. 

While Jereena hadn’t been – and would never be – as fashionable as Alenia, there was something they excelled at: sports. That made them rich and popular; they had been the country of fun, youth, laughter and beauty.

Now, the palace seemed dead.

There were servants, and to his surprise, no one came forward to ask who he was. Oh, they were all staring, obviously, but they stayed away.

He made it to the throne room, which was occupied; given the attire of the present crowd, he’d interrupted the wedding of some noble or another.

More staring.

Suddenly, all at once, the entire room gasped, grew quiet, and fell to the floor, in a deep, unanimous curtsy.

Well, the gentlemen bowed, but whatever.

Aiden wasn’t stupid, but he was dumbfounded; theories rushed through his mind. Had they all known? Had his father, Clocks or Lightwood betrayed his confidence? 

But something caught his eye on the left and he turned towards the window.

He froze for what could very well have been an hour.

He’d change. He was taller – much taller; the height of the Beast. His hair was longer than it had ever been, falling in waves to his shoulders. Damn if he didn’t need a trim. And a shave. To be honest, he looked like a caveman.

His cloak was too big for him, as his muscles weren’t over-engorged, but he was still well defined underneath.

He had been a boy; now he saw a man.

A Prince.

“Where is my father?”

Armand had always liked weddings; in the old days, he would have been presiding it, using his right of the senior to kiss the bride, while he was at it – the ladies generally were more than happy to oblige.

But the head of the ceremony was an old Duke Aiden didn’t want to waste his time talking to.

He needed to see his father, kick his ass about the sorry state of their kingdom, before hugging the hell out of him. In a manly way, obviously.

Someone answered, saying something about his chambers, and Aiden frowned all the way there.

It was early yet, on a
wedding.
Was Armand really depressed, as the government official had announced? He’d dismissed it as yet another plot to get him to come out when he’d first heard of it, but was there something to it?

The entire floor was deserted, every door left open; although the summer air had been kind to Archange City, there was a cold chill in the air.

The three solemn guards who had never showed the shadow of an emotion during his entire childhood were wearing the same masks of shock and horror when they saw him; but he didn’t have time for them. Aiden stormed into his father’s bedroom, and sighed in relief when he found him there.

Well, some version of him, in any case.

The man, who’d always seemed unyielding – unattainably handsome, strong, regal – was all but broken.

He seemed thinner, older by a dozen years, but the very worst were his hands.

His fingers were raw, bloody, blotched; yet, he was carefully working on something that seemed to be an incredibly ugly tapestry.

Aiden stared in horror. The King had lost his mind.

“Dad,” he called, a term he didn’t recall actually using once in his lifetime. “What the hell are you doing?”

The King lifted his eyes to him, and they popped out of his thin face.

He looked back down to his fingers, and up towards Aiden again.

His mouth opened and closed. Then, he finally said, weakly: “Bloody fucking hell. Don’t tell me I’ve done all this shit for nothing.”

Ok, Armand was fine.

Aiden force Armand to get some food down his throat, and Armand forced Aiden to shave; he also pulled his hair up in a ponytail, before sitting down.

Armand went first, as Kings normally did:

“I found her, the fay who designed your spell. Maleficent, she’s called. Goes by Mal, if she likes you. Anyway, we struck a deal. I had to fashion you a fucking three piece suit out of stinging nettles, without talking the whole bloody time. I’ve been at it for seven years.
Seven,
boy. And you
dare
break that curse before I finish it? I was almost done, too.”

Aiden looked to the discarded pile of brownish-green fabric, and winced.

“I was supposed to wear stinging nettle pants? My balls aren’t into that shit, Dad.”

The endearment now rolled of his tongue easily; he found he liked it.

“Shut it. If I can have nettles in my eyeballs every time I forgot and rubbed my eyes, you can very well deal with stinging balls for five freaking minutes. Tell me how you’ve broken that curse.”

“No idea,” Aiden confessed sincerely.

It sure as hell hadn’t been broken that morning; Belle might have a thing or two to say about that if it had.

“Well, tell me what happened to you, then. I’ve read enough about magic bullshit for a lifetime. I’m sure I’ll work it out.”

Aiden told him everything; well, he didn’t start ten years ago, there was no point. Nothing had changed for ten years.

He started three weeks prior, when he’d met
her
.

“So, you decided to man up and came here to do some good?”

“Pretty much.”

Armand nodded, obviously considering the matter. Then, he laughed, hard enough to have to hold his sides. Aiden got worried when he started choking; the old man seemed so frail.

“That’s actually clever.
Seriously annoying,
but clever, too. Mal has obviously got a sense of humor.”

That made a lot of sense.

Or not.

“You are a selfish, self-centered spoilt brat with too many privileges for your own good.”

Ouch.

True, but hurtful, nonetheless.

“Well, you were anyway. It’s not your fault, you’re a Prince. Occupational hazard. Any royal cursed as you were might have turned into a Beast, me included. However, today, because of that girl, you decided to put others first. You haven’t broken the curse. You’ve just stopped acting like a twat.”

Holy hell.

Aiden wasn’t sure how he should feel. Fucking annoyed was definitely up there, though. As well as somehow… amused?

Shit. It was kinda funny. And he had a feeling that if he didn’t laugh about it, he’d end up crying.

On the other hand, did that mean that if he ever did the wrong thing, he’d turn back to blue, then?

“What can I do?”

“Well, the nettle suit is out of question now; I’ve spoken. And I’m
not
starting from scratch again. That only leaves one thing. Where’s that girl?”

“At Grandma’s place. Why?”

“Because,” the King replied. “You’re going to get her ass here, and marry her before she can get away. Sounds like she’ll keep you in check. Besides, I want grandbabies. After the weaving I’ve done for you? You owe me at least five of those. Get to work. Now.”

♦

Belle wasn’t the only one who grinded her teeth when news that the prodigal son had returned to the palace. In fact, it was fair to say that most
Jereen
an
s
were calling for blood.

But she wasn’t just murderous; she also felt betrayed, which didn’t make a blink of sense.

At first.

She wasn’t surprised that the Beast hadn’t come back to the Nest; Clocks and Lightwood left, too. Within days, the Nest, club extraordinaire, shut its door to the public, and a flock of servants soon came to put the house back in order.

Belle took it as a clue to start looking for accommodations; in the meantime, Lucia offered her couch.

She’d managed to pack one case when a servant caught her at it.

“You can’t leave!” the maid seemed horrified. “Have we done anything to offend you? My lady, please stay. Our orders are to make you as comfortable as possible. If you left…”

Belle stared, shocked and lost for words.

Sure, the guys had taken good care of her within the last few days, but she hadn’t caught on that they were there
for
her. That didn’t make a blink of sense.

After turning the wheels in her mind until her head span out of control, she had a theory.

The house belonged to the Beast, that much had always been clear. And he wanted her there.

That meant that he’d come back, soon, when his dick of a boss didn’t need him to protect his ass.

She liked that explanation.

By the end of the week, though, she was pissed. While she could imagine that the job of the Guards wasn’t easy right now, he could have taken the time to write. You know, a quick “so, concerning that dinner… how about next year?” would have done.

But he didn’t.

She didn’t take it out on the servants; they were pretty damn awesome, actually.

Cook prepared every meal, including a packed lunch, and one day, they got talking.

“You know, you used to frighten me.”

“Fear is good – keeps Belle safe.”

“Nah, that’s stupid. I should know better than to fear what’s different from me.”

Cook shook his head, before pointing a wooden spoon to his chest.

“I Wilderling.”

Holy shit.

Sure, he was weird, but she hadn’t expected that.

No one knew what Wilderlings really were; they looked human, sure, but there was magic in them. That didn’t make them fay; they lived just as short a life as most humans, and could be easily killed.

What all of the accounts said, though, was that they were carnal, dangerous predators… and the description definitely
didn’t
fit Cook, despite the occasional roaring.